Conflicted In Love
by guineamania
Summary: When Enjolras and Grantaire meet it is love a first sight ... sort of. Grantaire is doting but cynical; Enjolras is in love but conflicted. But he won't give up on their latest member yet.


_**18/8/13**_

**Little one shot for my faithful reviewer and a great writer herself ****kimco****! Hope you enjoy :)**

**P.S – I am now on FictonPress to put my novel attempt up. Search guineamania to find me! It would mean the world if people would help me improve it.**

**Conflicted In Love**

When they first met, Grantaire was drunk…would you expect any different? He had been dragged to a social justice meeting by his classics course mate and new roommate. Jehan was completely opposite to Grantaire; he was happy-go-lucky, loved life, addicted to flowers and wrote poetry in his spare time. But he tolerated Grantaire and people who did that were few and far between; Grantaire wasn't the best person to share a flat with. And so their relationship, not in a romantic way, developed into Jehan trying his hardest to find Grantaire people that would like him and something to do other than mope around the apartment, paint and drink. The last place he thought to try was the Café Musain, meeting place of the social justice group Le Amis de L'ABC. Grantaire was understandably sceptical; yes he was always sceptical but this time there was reasoning behind it. He completely and utterly opposed their beliefs and knew that when he opened his mouth to speak, cynical nonsense would fall out without him thinking about it. Grantaire had no filter between his brain and mouth; he had lost count of the number of times that had got him in trouble.

He was sat in a shadowy corner, trying desperately to ignore the ramblings of cocky, optimistic children. The wine dulled his thoughts and made him actually feel like he wanted to be in this increasingly shrinking room. That's why he was on bottle three by the time the meeting was due to begin. He was on the third bottle when they first met and he fell in love. The man who swung the doors open with unquestionable power had to be a god; Apollo, or at least Apollo incarnate. His golden curls shone in the measly candlelight and illuminated the whole room with optimism and hope. Grantaire usually loathed optimism and hope but this angel looming in front of him made it beautiful. He felt that whatever this godly man would ask then he would do; he would die for him…and they had never even spoken with each other.

However the angel's first impression of Grantaire was less than favourable. Enjolras, leader of the revolutionaries, strolled in as he was in the middle of a debate with Combeferre. At first he didn't notice the drunkard sat ogling him in the corner. He was too focused on his debate and getting ready for the meeting to notice trivial things and new faces. If was Courfeyrac's job to welcome new people, not Enjolras'. When he first noticed Grantaire it was during his speech; he was in the middle of a word when a scoffing arose from the corner. His head snapped around to confront the figure and was stopped mid motion. The man who dared speak up against him was a new face. And not a bad looking one either. He was nothing like the high up, sophisticated students they usually drew in. His face was raggedy and worn by a harsh life but it suited him. Untrimmed stubble lined a firm jaw line, the same colour as his unruly mop of hair. All his clothes were worn and old with paint splatters covering the fabric so more paint could be seen that of the original colour. He was different and fascinating; Enjolras couldn't make himself look away. Until the stranger spoke. "You speak of a people's revolt but I do not see many people ready to revolt," he chuckled, openly confronting Enjolras. Enjolras' gaze blackened, he was ready to accept the stranger; maybe even bring him into his close circle but then this. He was a cynic. Cynics were just below the king and royalists on the list of people Enjolras hated. But this time it was different; as the cynic rambled at him, he found himself thinking. The newcomer had potential; if they could just change his opinion on the revolution then he would be perfect. A perfect revolutionary obviously…not perfect in over ways, obviously. Enjolras kept on being drawn back to his eyes, glistening a beautiful dark gold and sparkling with life. Then down to his lips, red and dry from constant biting whenever he was thinking. All Enjolras could imagine was his lips on the stranger's succulent ones despite his best attempts. But he couldn't want to…he just couldn't. The man was a cynic for God's sake. Then it hit him. Enjolras smiled to himself. If he could convince the newcomer not to disregard the revolution then maybe these feelings would be more justified. It couldn't be too hard.

Once the meeting had finished, Enjolras began his plan. "Hey, sorry. I didn't catch your name?" Enjolras smiled as the man got up to leave.

"Grantaire," the obviously drunk man replied with a smile and an exaggerated bow. "At your service," he chuckled.

"Will you be coming back?" Enjolras asked, attempting to be casual while his heart was doing cartwheels at that smile.

"I suppose I will," Grantaire shrugged and left. Enjolras grinned and practically skipped out of the Musain. He had a mission to plan.


End file.
